


Oh, Quiet Child, Travel Afar

by shewhowritestoomuch



Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Deaf Character, Gibson's POV, Gibson's Real Name Is Philippe Hugo Guillet, Happy Ending, M/M, Major Character Injury, No Dialogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 02:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12378873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shewhowritestoomuch/pseuds/shewhowritestoomuch
Summary: What if Philippe had become hearing impaired in the escape to Dunkirk? How might have this changed his interactions with Tommy and Alex on the beach?ORI am still deep in denial about Gibson's death, here's yet another fix-it-fix





	Oh, Quiet Child, Travel Afar

It was not strange to find soldiers silently huddling on the wet sand of Dunkirk beach. At present there were approximately 400,000 of them. Even when people communicated, they tended to find themselves doing so silently, the oppressive atmosphere making the act of speech an undesirable prospect.

In Philippe's case, the oppressive atmosphere was only a small factor in his continued silence. The truth was that in his escape to the beach he had managed to lose the hearing in the entirety of his left ear, and most of his right. If his own phenomenological experience didn't attest to that, then the blood that was still dribbling continuously from each ear hours after the shelling which had caused it would.

He didn't really understand why he took time to bury the body of the soldier who had died in the blast that had once and for all ruined the hearing in his left ear. All that he knew was that he'd be left for dead of he were both injured and French, and being unable to fake good health, decided to pretend at being British instead.

The boy soldier who had stumbled across him as he buried a man called Gibson did not seem to be able to tell. He didn't protest at his help with getting on the hospital ship at any rate, nor did he seem to question why he was so determined to hide under the pier. Instead he huddled closer to him, an arm around him as they watched the ship sink at the hand of German fighter pilots. Philippe leaned into the touch more than was strictly speaking appropriate, but then, so did the kind boy soldier. They said nothing and revelled in their quiet solidarity for as long as they could.

What Philippe could not know was that just as he found the kind boy soldier exquisitely interesting, so did the kind boy soldier find him.

The boy soldier who they fished from the water didn't seem to mind at first either. Not when they dunked themselves in the water, nor when they were ferried upon a destroyer to take them across the channel. He had even ever so briefly clung onto Philippe's stolen jacket as he went below and the Frenchman stayed on deck, trying to pull him into the warmth, not knowing that the kindness would have signed all of their death warrants.

It was only when they were back on the beach that he seemed to become suspicious. At first they slept and all was fine, but afterwards, Philippe could feel his glare upon him. Afterwards, he could faintly make out the words which were being hurled at him in desperate question. Not with enough clarity to answer, but enough to understand that there were accusations in the air, and that he would most likely be left behind if the angry boy soldier had his way. He could do nothing, even his hands failing to move in some sort of appeasing way, staying frozen by his side.

It was the kind boy soldier who noticed the blood still trickling out of his ears, and pointed it out to the angry boy soldier.

Everything turned on a switch. The angry boy soldier was no longer angry, but instead concerned, moving his head delicately to examine Philippe's ruined ears. The Frenchman found himself being sat down, the sand wet beneath him from the retreating tide. To one side the ever kind boy soldier sat, holding both of his hands as the formerly angry but now concerned boy soldier wrapped a bandage around his ears, the fabric freshly ripped from the cloth of his own shirt.

Philippe watched as the kind soldier wrote his name in the sand, Tommy acting as an epithet that was simultaneously perfect and yet insufficient for the boy. After the other soldier had finished with his improvised medicine, Alex was scrawled into the sand too. This time the name, that of a conqueror who drank too much, seemed to fit.

The two kind boy soldiers stared at him, it seemed that they waited for reciprocation. He knew that they were kind, and so he should not lie, but they were also British, and so he might be seen as a cowardly frog. Still, if he were to die on the beach, he would prefer to do so honestly and so "Philippe" joined them. He bowed his head and waited for his judgement.

Instead of the retribution, he only felt the soft hands of Tommy caressing his face and wiping silent tears away, and Alex's hands at the base of his skull, stroking the wispiest party of his hair. He couldn't hear their reassurances, nor their plans, and so it was with great surprise that he found himself being embraced, and led behind a sand dune, and kissed so gently that at times he thought he was hallucinating. This, he thought, was not how treacherous French soldiers were meant to be treated. Still, the fleeting kisses were welcome and he reciprocated as best he could. They spent another night behind the dune, which would shortly fall into enemy hands, the three of them huddled together for warmth and comfort as the darkness encroached upon the day. It was perhaps not the best way to meet people, but for now they cared little, the fact that no-one was threatening to kick their heads in an experience which was exhilarating and new.

His ears still not recovered, it was with great surprise that he found himself being rowed out to sea the next day, Alex taking them out on an old piece of wood.

They soon found themselves being hauled onto a little ship, along with the commander of the boat who had wanted to leave Alex and Tommy out to die in the water after the sinking. Even Alex, who seemed to have anger in his blood, was too relieved to do anything. So they huddled around each other instead, Philippe feeling Alex at his left side and Tommy at his right. Even when a young brown eyed boy came to give them blankets and tea, the two British soldiers would not be parted from him. Philippe smiled at the boy, and snarled at the officer when he nearly made him drop the cup of tea he was carrying. The officer seemed to take the hint, retreating under his blanket and taking the tea as he should.

Philippe could do nothing but sit, stock still, as the captain of the boat came out from the cabin, his lips moving in question at the three compatriots. He felt himself being held by Tommy and Alex, the watchful eyes of the captain seeming to pick up every movement. From what little that he could hear in his right ear, it seemed that they would be only the first of several rescues. Philippe did not care, so long as he was not forced back into the water or away from Tommy or Alex. He let both of his hands curl into the uniforms of his two companions, from who he would never be parted, the empty tea cup sitting forgotten at his feet. He smiled as he felt the hands of Tommy fall, furtively so as not to be seen, to his waist, the bony digits serving as reminders that he was loved too. Alex was less immediately and concretely reassuring, but Philippe took comfort in the way the taller soldier shielded him from the gaze of the two curious boys who waited in the doorway of the cabin. For the first time since his homeland had been invaded he breathed easily, every muscle in his body starting to relax as his heart went down from its crescendo to something more reasonable.

He was so relaxed that he found himself being carried down below more so than walking himself, Tommy and Alex depositing him upon the little bed and then joining him afterwards. He stared into the blue eyes of Tommy, and then the green ones of Alex. All it seemed would be good.

And it would be.


End file.
